The Real History of Celeborn and Galadriel
by Evil Incarnate
Summary: Galadriel tells what *really* happened from the First Age to the pesent... Largely Silmarillion based. Rating may later increase for language...


The _Real_ History of Celeborn and Galadriel 

Based on the LotR _books_, the Simarillion and perhaps Unfinished Tales, but it is really only necessary to have read the first two to understand it…

I was reading 'The History of Celeborn and Galadriel' in Unfinished Tales, and the five million different versions of Galadriel and Celeborn's meeting, not to mention the different types of elf Celeborn was, gave me the idea for this…

Prelude after the War of the Ring, when Aragorn and Arwen's son Eldarion is eight years old.

Prelude: The _Real_ Reason Why Galadriel Begins this History

It is a sunny day, but in Lórien, especially Caras Galadhon – I _love_ the fact that the city is really sort of named after _me_, no matter what Ilúvatar a.k.a. Tolkien said. The Tree-dwellers? Yeah, right! It is always sunny, so that is nothing out of the ordinary. Thank the Valar. Rain wrecks havoc on my complexion, and you _know_ how bad it is, wearing white clothes when it is raining…

            Arwen and her damned human King left me to baby-sit while they went off to do whatever parents do whenever they can find someone to thrust their children upon – as if I don't know what is going on! – and now I have to think up of some way to _entertain_ Eldarion. Unfortunately he doesn't want to stare into my mirror – why ever would he not? Had he been talking to Frodo? – and he doesn't find Narya at all interesting. 

            What _am_ I supposed to do with a half-human child?

            Well, he is actually more then _half_ human. My daughter had married that damned Elrond – what did she find in an Elf with such _awful_ eyebrows? By Valar, I swear she got that from Celeborn. _I_ would never have such a horrible, horrible lack of taste. _I_ would never have married one who was only half an elf. It was bad enough I had to settle for one that was not born of the Noldor! 

            Celeborn just walks in, scowling. He has appeared to picked up some of my thoughts. Valar, that is his problem. Surely he can't have been so damned naïve to believe that I would have preferred an elf of Doriath to one of my Noldori kindred? There was just no one left for me, no one that was untouched by that idiotic Fëanor's curse. Stupid elf. Stupid, stupid! Bringing the Doom of Mandos down on us all … still, it got me out of Aman, so I suppose I should thank him for _that_. 

            Celeborn constantly amazes me. I suppose that means I will never get bored of the man, even though it _has_ been some many centuries… No, I won't count them … I might scare myself. 

            But Celebrían married a half-elf, so Arwen – she might _look_ like Lúthien, but I promise you that she is nothing like the daughter of Melian. Aragorn got shortchanged, and I just laugh when he attempts to say the Lay of Lúthien in that horrible romantic voice of his. I shudder at the thought of the Man (does he really think he is worthy of Beren? Beren was the one –_one_! – acceptable Man. _He_ held a Simaril. What has this Aragorn done to compare to that?) Just because he is the long lost, very, _very_ distant heir of Isildur does not mean he is kingship or marriageable material. I mean, please! 

            But my granddaughter is only three-quarters elf, no matter what that damned herald of Manwë said at the overthrowing of Morgoth about Elrond being granted the immortality of the Eldar. That makes her son only a _quarter_ of the Eldar kindred! A _quarter! _How can I claim that I am this Man's great-grandmother? I hate that phrase. It makes me sound old.

            Celeborn is grinning at me. I am a woman! I am allowed to be sensitive about my age – and I must say, I do not know anyone in Middle-Earth who is as old as me and looks as good as me. That is an achievement … surely those in Aman don't look more beautiful then me? They _can't_. _I_ am the Lady of the Wood. _I_ am a ruler of a realm. I'd like to see those hags back in Aman achieve as much … the Valar won't let them do _anything_. What is the _point_ of living forever if you do absolutely _nothing_ … and look as good as I do?

            Celeborn is grinning harder. I piss him off by calling him by his Teleri name (which I hate, but it is good to annoy him with).

            He doesn't like it much.

            He _really_ doesn't like it when I call him that in bed. I am beginning to wonder if it reflects upon some of the hobbies he keeps secret from me. I must ask about that picture under his bed … do they sell ones picturing the sexiest male elves of Western Middle-Earth? Life-sized posters of Legolas and Haldir would look very nice on my wall … damn it, why do I need a poster of Haldir? I'll put _him_ on display in my chambers… 

            _Why_ didn't I seduce Legolas when I had him? I must have been mad at the time. Or perhaps Aragorn's presence had rattled me. Celeborn wouldn't have minded too much, not when he had his copy of _Immortal Beauty: Beauty Tips for the Immortal Who Just Won't Die Already _to drool over. I could have got him drunk and he never would have known the difference between the magazine and me … wait, that's _my_ magazine! What's Celeborn doing reading my beauty magazines…?

            "You? Legolas?"

            Since when is telepathy catching?

            "He's probably a better f…"

            Celeborn cuts me off. "There are children in the room…"

            Eldarion was staring up at me, transfixed. At least _someone_ knows real beauty when he sees it. Even that disgusting, smelly, sweaty, _ugly_ dwarf – what was his name again? Grimli? Ginli? Who cares –knew it, although no sane woman would put the esteem of a dwarf very high. Their women look like men, by the Valar! 

            He probably thought me one of the Valar…

            I smile at the child. "Can I help you?" I can be gracious for someone who admires me.

            "Can I have a lock of your hair?"

            He wants my hair. He wants my _hair!_ My beautiful golden tresses! This kid wants my _hair!_

            Why does everyone want my _hair_?

            Celeborn is laughing. "Since when does everyone want _your_ hair?" he asks, amused. "Idril of Gondolin was a siren, and Lúthien was prettier then you are … _her_ mother was Melian, a Maia. One step down from the Valar…"

            Not everyone wants my hair? I laugh. "Everyone has wanted my hair," I say coldly.

            "Sure," Celeborn drawled. I turn to Eldarion.

            "Do you want to hear a story?" I ask in my nicest voice. "I'll tell you _his_," I point at Celeborn and he blanches, "real name, and the tale of why every man in Middle-Earth wants a lock of my hair." And they did. Even creeps like Celeborn who make a habit of collecting locks of hair from every halfway decent woman he can get his hands on. He is _such_ a lecher… 

            Eldarion shrugs and nods.

And thus begins the _Real_ History of Celeborn and Galadriel…

Chapter One coming: Fëanor, and the _real_ reason why he created the Silmarils…


End file.
